


48 Hours

by emmpire



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky barnes' metal arm, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, I can't write anything that doesn't vaguely mention Stucky, Metal Arm Kink, Mutants, PWP, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rough Sex, Smut, Stucky (implied) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8207857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmpire/pseuds/emmpire
Summary: You're helping Steve track the Winter Soldier and you follow him to a hotel room. Let the sin begin! (Also, you're a mutant. Yay!)





	

“You do realise I let you break in here?” His voice comes out of the darkness of the hotel room where he’s sitting - lounging - in an arm chair. You suck in a sharp breath. Fuck. Let’s play it cool.

“Yes.”

“Why are you following me?” The soldier growls. He stands and steps toward you, slow and deliberate. He knows you're frightened. He can smell it.

“You interest me.” How does your voice sound steady? Your stomach’s in knots.

In two steps, he’s on you, metal fist wrapped around your throat, although he doesn’t choke you.

“I _interest_ you?” He spits, “let me show you how fuckin’ _interesting_ I can be,” he thrusts his arm forward and you back into the wood paneling of the wall. As he does so, the skin on your back and neck ripples defensively and turns to metal. The wall splinters at the force of his shove and your metal mutation.

His eyes widen. “Clever.”

He draws back slightly, his metal fingers on your collar bone, his touch featherlight. He suddenly digs in, hard, and once again your skin shifts under his fingers to a scaly metal ripple, disappearing again as he lets go. It still hurts you, but it won’t bruise.

“Steve –” you start, and his eyes snap to yours, steel and searching. “He’s looking for you.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Does he know you’re here?” His voice has changed. He sounds vulnerable, young, for an instant.

“No,” you answer, and his gaze bores into yours; he knows you're telling the truth. “But you let me follow you here,” you add, breath catching under his stare. “Why?”

He gazes at you and his lips turn up into a smirk. He’s suddenly predatory again, dangerous, and your stomach swoops. “You interest me,” he mutters.

He leans forward, his lips millimetres from yours, his hand still resting on your throat as he shifts it to twirl a lock of hair. “Pretty little freak,” he murmurs and then he crushes your lips with his, his other hand snaking to your waist and pulling you in roughly.

You gasp against his kiss, stupidly thinking you wanted this, and now suddenly unsure and afraid. But then his tongue is in your mouth and he makes a soft little sound, your head spins and everything down south screams _more, please_. No going back now.

He spins you round towards the bed, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. He pulls back, his hand in your hair at the back of your neck, forcing your head back to bare your throat. He assaults your skin with his teeth, and you try to control your mutation so he can bite you. You have some power over it; it’s like blushing. Take a deep breath and it usually settles down. You both succeed, and you feel his teeth in your neck and _fuck_ if that doesn’t make you twice as wet.

You feel him grin at the low whimper that escapes your throat. He pushes you back roughly so you fall onto the bed, following you down. He’s so huge his whole body covers yours, pinning you down. His metal hand pushes up your shirt, his other one slipping under to unclip your bra. Smooth. You giggle, lost in this; the smell of him like gun oil, sweat, and a cologne you don’t recognise.

He smirks again, your breasts exposed, and his hands are everywhere. He pulls you to a sitting position to tug your shirt and bra off before he strips himself of his shirt and pants. Efficient, you think. You can see now he’s hard - and _huge_ \- in his black underwear. You lay back and he kneels on the bed making quick work of your boots and jeans. He gazes down at you, his eyes on your body as he runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back momentarily. It’s such a practised motion, and for a moment he looks so at ease; he’s Bucky Barnes again. He glances down at himself and motions playfully. “Still interested?”

You smile and tug him down, his hard length rubbing at you through cotton. Your panties are soaked, and he knows it. He kisses you and he’s rough again, focused, brutal.

“Enough,” he mutters, hooking his thumbs into your underwear and pulling them down. You gasp as he touches you with his flesh hand, pushing two fingers inside and his palm on your clit. You yelp a little, feeling stretched out, but it swiftly gives way to pleasure. His mouth travels down your chest to your breasts, licking and sucking marks into them. He hooks his fingers inside you, and makes another one of those soft moans, barely audible, before flipping you over onto your stomach. Turning to watch him, he strips out of his underwear and his cock springs free, already leaking at the tip. God, his body is so hot: his muscles cut, skin tanned. _Summer soldier,_ you think, and suppress a mad desire to laugh.

He grabs your hips and pulls you to your hands and knees and, with one more swipe of his fingers he pushes in, too quick, _too much_ , and all the breath is punched out of you. “Fuck!” You curse.

“You’re okay, кукла,” he soothes, beginning to thrust slowly, gentler after that first shocking push in. He makes a low whine, warmth curls in your abdomen at the sound. His hand slips round your hips and over your belly, down to rub at your clit as he fucks you. “Oh, _god_ ,” you moan again, his deft fingers taking you apart, the metal ones this time.

“You like that,” he says, and it’s not a question. He fucks you that way for a few minutes until you're writhing underneath him, pushing yourself against his cool palm on every thrust, gasping for breath.

He flips you in a smooth motion so you're on top, he’s propped up a little on the pillows so you can collapse forward onto his chest and grip the headboard behind him. The base of his cock rubs up against you deliciously, his metal arm is around your waist and other hand in your hair as he rocks his hips up.

His pace quickens and his breath is getting ragged, his chest rising with each pant against your own. “Come for me, кукла,” he growls, snapping his hips up viciously. It undoes you and you come hard, waves of pleasure rolling through you. “Bucky,” you whimper, and he meets your gaze, grey eyes surprisingly warm. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, both hands on your hips now as he grinds up into your wetness.

“ _Nngh_ , yes, fuck,” he whines, thrusting up twice more before he comes, his fingers digging into your hips, your mutation feathering under his touch.

You lean your forehead on the headboard for a second to collect youself before rolling off and onto your back. You both breathe for a moment before Bucky traces your abdomen with the backs of his metal knuckles.

“Maybe we’re not so different,” you say, looking at his arm. He scoffs.

“What you have is your own. Natural. What I have…” He trails off. “It’s a violation. Made to hurt. A weapon.” His voice is neutral but his eyes are sad.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you say. He meets your eyes again. You can see the hurt in his for a second before he turns away, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed to sit up.

“You should go.”

You dress and gather your things. You lean to kiss his cheek; answering some need in you to be affectionate, show him love. He lets you.

“Tell Steve,” he begins. “Tell him I’ll be here for 48 hours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Het is not my forte but I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are cookies. Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://emmpire.tumblr.com)


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